Tell Me What Am I Supposed to Do?
by innocent
Summary: An awkward meeting between our favourite couple. [CompleteRepost, in accordance with FFN’s new no song lyrics rule]


**Title**: (Tell Me) What Am I Supposed to Do?  
**Pairing**: Rory/Tristan

**Other Pairings**: None

**Rating**: PG-13  
**Warnings**: None  
**Summary**: An awkward meeting between our favourite couple. Complete/Repost, in accordance with FFN's new no song lyrics rule  
**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Amy Sherman-Palladino and some other people, none of whom are me. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's Notes**: This is a REPOST of a story originally published on January 31, 2002. The original story contained the song lyrics to The Calling's Final Answer from their 2001 CD Camino Palmero. The song lyrics have now been edited out of the story, but you can find them at: http // www . geocities . com / twebmx / rca . html ? 200530 # anchor 252688… Except without those irritating spaces, which I had to put in because (hopefully) this way, FFN won't make the web address disappear. For the record, I think stories that included properly credited song lyrics should not be banned from FFN, and pretending like this new rule makes sense is really fucking stupid because, HELLO! FFN is a fanfiction site… there are some mad copyright issues right there, y'all. Anyway, this story is unchanged, except for the removal of song lyrics, so just be aware that the writing is not indicative of my writing style today! Also, I'm quite pissed that I had to remove the original post, which meant that I had to lose my reviews. That's very not cool. And… that is all. This unbelievably long author's note has been brought to your by the letters F, N and N. On to the story…

They sat there, desperately trying to find something to say that would break the awkward silence.

There had never been awkward silences between them before. Even after the kiss at the piano, they had at least _talked_. But here, now, they couldn't seem to say anything to each other. Each comment that was meant to incite banter instead caused hurt. She winced at the look in his eyes when she had told him to go find one of his groupies. 'I'm sure they missed you' she had said, her voice dripping with disdain.

Strangely, he didn't catch the hint of amusement in her tone, or chose to ignore it instead. His eyes flashed and rather than smirk and drop another of his much-loved innuendoes, he had snapped at her.

"You don't know me, Rory." His voice was flat, his words clipped.

Rory frowned slightly, and wondered how to diffuse the situation, how to appease his anger. And then another part of her was angry with him for being angry with _her_. What right did he have to snap at her? She wasn't the one changing the rules – he was. 'When one attempts to banter with someone, said someone should have the decency to banter back!' she thought indignantly. She opened her mouth to tell him that, not intending to be nice at all, but his expression stopped her.

She sighed, "Tell me something true, Tristan."

Of all the responses, that was not what he had expected. Granted, he had expected a stinging slap and a swift kick in the ass, not words at all, but still… He glanced at her, and wondered how she had become so very important to him. Her expression was unreadable but her stance showed her weariness, the stoop of her shoulders showed how dangerously close she was to giving in.

It was a night of firsts for them. For the first time, they had nothing to say to each other. For the first time, Tristan could not summon up the strength to tease her. For the first time, Rory considered just giving up.

He knew what to tell her. "On the outside, I am calm, cool, collected. Nothing fazes me. Nothing can get a rise out of me. I am untouchable. But inside… inside I am plagued by insecurity."

Rory was startled by his voice, suddenly very unlike the Tristan she thought she knew. And it was unnerving to realize that she didn't know very much about Tristan at all. She knew what he let her see, and it was becoming clear that he did not let her see very much of him. It was even more unnerving to realize that she was sorry she didn't know him better.

Rory looked at him, really looked at him and tried to find a trace of the insecurity he claimed to be suffering from. She didn't see anything out of the ordinary. His cocky grin was conspicuously missing, but other than that, he was the same as always. He leaned against the doorway, his lean, well-muscled frame illuminated by the light from the hallway.

In her search for a hint of his real emotions, she didn't even realize she was staring at him. His cool, ice blue eyes gazed back at her just as contemplatively, and he was surprised that she didn't blush when they made eye contact. His tousled, just-fucked hair got even messier as he ran his hands through it, and _that_ thought did make Rory blush.

In an attempt to forget her previous train of thought, Rory struggled to respond to his surprisingly candid revelation. While there were many things she wanted to say, all that managed to emerge was a simple "Why?"

Tristan smiled, a wistful smile completely unlike the charming, playboy grin she had seen him flash dozens of times in dozens of instances. It scared her that she could recognize his smiles. His next words scared her even more.

"You make me that way."

"Me?" she choked out, desperately hoping that he would suddenly stop and laugh at her for falling for his latest prank. Except she knew that this was no prank. For the first time, this was Tristan. Idly, she wondered if anyone else had ever seen the real Tristan. It saddened her when she realized that she was probably the only one who had. It scared her that she was sad.

"You." he agreed

She waited for him to offer more, but nothing came. Instead, he stared into the flickering flames of the fire. As the shadows danced over his face, it occurred to her that he had a life that she could not even begin to comprehend.

The halls of Chilton, where she felt so uncomfortable and small, were his escape. His constant stream of conquests weren't because he enjoyed sex that much (although she was sure that was part of it); it was a search for some brief measure of warmth, of the feeling that someone cared. He was able to lose himself in arms and legs and breasts and convince himself that for those few brief moments, he was not alone. He was buried within someone who wanted him.

Suddenly, frighteningly, Rory was aware of just how much _she_ wanted him. It was all well and good to deny the attraction when he was being a pompous ass, but when he stopped with the act and gave her a taste of what he was really like, it was too hard to renounce her feelings. It was classic, a textbook case, really. Every woman knows, there's nothing sexier than a strong man showing weakness, and Tristan fit the oh-so-sexy archetype perfectly.

'Okay Rory, enough. He's _Tristan_.' Rory snapped at herself

And yet… something about him was mysterious, as if there was so much more to him than what you saw on the surface. The silence was deafening, but she welcomed it. If she concentrated hard enough, she could hear the strains of music drifting through the house. It was something by one of the current reigning pop princesses, no doubt another attempt of her grandmother's. Though she was guaranteed to hate the music her grandmother had chosen, she tried to pick out the tune. Anything not to concentrate on the boy beside her.

But she couldn't resist... she had to know why she, of all people, made him insecure.

"Tristan?" she asked, breaking into his thoughts and jarring him back to reality. Reality was no fun.

"Yes?"

"Why do I make you insecure?"

He knew she would ask this, and really, he should have been prepared. There was no reason for him not to have a witty response ready to roll of his tongue, except for the fact that he had consciously avoided thinking about what to say when she asked the inevitable question.

"Rory… You're not like me. Not like us." Tristan began, wondering if she would even understand what she was saying, wondering if there was a point in trying to explain.

"I don't get it." she frowned and he had to stop himself from reaching for her.

"No, of course you don't. You're a fucking Mary!"

Even as she started to retort, he waved away her comments. "I'm not trying to insult you, I'm trying to explain. We live in a world where you don't show emotion. You don't cry, you don't ask for help and you sure as hell don't show weakness. If you can do it, you stop feeling."

Rory stared at him. Once again it hit her just how different their lives were.

"I am damn good at not feeling. I don't let anyone get to me. It used to be that I was cool, calm and collected inside too. And then you walked into Chilton and everything changed.

"You started out as just another Mary, a conquest, a notch in my belt. But then… For some singularly fucked up reason, you didn't give in. For the first time, someone stood up to me. You let me have it on the numerous occasions that I did something stupid. You smiled at me sometimes. And then, somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting you because you were the new girl, the Mary, the notch in my belt."

"And you wanted me for…?" she whispered

"You. I wanted you because you're you."

He glanced at her, and then quickly looked away. He was scared to look into her eyes and see the disgust he was sure was there. Somehow, he didn't think he could handle it coming from her.

'That's the funny thing about feeling. Not only do you feel curiously alive when you banter with her, but you also feel crushed when you realize how incredibly stupid and worthless she thinks you are.' Tristan thought ruefully.

Then she knew how she made him insecure. Everything he did, everything he said, he wondered how she would react to it… and yet, he still did things she wouldn't necessarily like, or even understand, because while her power over him was remarkable, it couldn't change who he was. It couldn't change the circumstances of his life.

Someone had turned up the music, and Tristan could hear the lead singer of the newest, hottest pseudo-rocker croon into his microphone, begging (begging!) for love, mourning for all that might have been. He groaned and ran his hands through his hair again.

It was bad enough that he had just admitted to Rory what he had felt from the moment he met her, but did the moment really need a fucking theme song? Was it really necessary to take the things he most wanted in the darkest part of himself, and shove them into the light for everyone to see?

She had moved to stand before him, and placed her tiny hand in his, tugging insistently at him. Surprised, he looked at her, and couldn't help but fall for her all over again. It didn't matter how stupid it was to feel something for someone how felt nothing back, and none of the circumstances that said they could never be anything but friends – if that – made any impression on his brain. All he could see were the reasons he wanted her so badly in the first place – her shining eyes and laughing mouth, her soft touch and the warmth that emanated from her body.

And even better, he saw the look on her face, the one that said she would welcome him into her world, should he need an escape from his.

Then, swaying to the faded strains of music in the fire-lit room, with shadows flickering on the walls and the smell of Rory's vanilla perfume making him dizzy with want, he realized that she wouldn't let him hold her unless she wanted him too.

And he smiled. Maybe feeling wasn't so bad after all.


End file.
